


One for the memories

by DropsOfAddiction



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beach Holidays, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Cabins, Cold Weather, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Dancing Stiles Stilinski, Danger, Deepthroating, Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski Bonding, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Feels, Derek Hale Has a Big Dick, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Door Sex, Dorks in Love, Face-Fucking, Feelings, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Idiots in Love, Jealous Derek Hale, Jealous Stiles Stilinski, Jordan Parrish & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Oblivious Derek, Ocean Sex, Possessive Derek Hale, Protective Derek, Rimming, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Sleeping Bag Sex, Top Derek, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAddiction/pseuds/DropsOfAddiction
Summary: “You know? Do I look alright?” Stiles says, gesturing to himself and he turns around, giving Derek the full picture. He might wiggle his ass a little for extra effect.“It’s an old country pub. I’m sure you’ll be the best dressed there,” Derek shrugs casually, but it sounds a little choked.“Would it kill you to give me an actual compliment on my birthday?” Stiles jokes, not really expecting an answer.Derek shifts from foot to foot, clearing his throat.“Your lips...” Derek says slowly.“My... my lips?” Stiles says, surprise on his face.“Yes. They’re... Erm... they’re very... shiny...” Derek says, grimacing.Stiles snorts out a laugh and Derek glares.“Thank you. That’s what I was going for. I’m glad... err... glad you noticed,” Stiles smirks.Stiles bites back a smile, chewing on his lower lip. He can see the individual lashes on Derek’s face.They’re a little too close.“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Stiles winks and Derek scents the air, nostrils flaring wildly, hands twitching at his sides.“Are you two ready?” Scott calls from just outside the door and Derek jumps back like he’s been electrocuted.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 63
Kudos: 1352





	One for the memories

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t post this work anywhere else but here. All characters belong to the teen wolf creators, I’m just borrowing them.
> 
> Well... so that’s that. As usual, I’ve taken a million liberties with countries and processes and procedures but it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t!
> 
> I think I saw this as a future piece, a continuation of the show, if you like. 
> 
> Much love, as always x

Beacon Hills- California- March 2020

—————

“Hey Parrish, what have you got for me?” Stiles Stillinski says as he enters Beacon Hills Sheriff’s station, ready to begin his night shift.

He doesn’t stop walking and he keeps going until he’s in his office; he puts down the tray of coffee that he’s carrying, hangs his jacket on his chair and he takes a seat, kicking his feet up on his desk.

Deputy Jordan Parrish follows him inside and kicks the door shut after him. Parrish picks up a coffee cup out of the tray without asking which is his and he takes a seat opposite Stiles. Parrish opens up the file he’d carried in with him, spreads some papers out on the desk and waits.

Stiles inhales half a cup of coffee and sighs wearily, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re not going to believe it,” Parrish says shaking his head.

“You’re a hellhound, my best friend’s a werewolf, one of my ex-girlfriend’s is a banshee and I’m the Sheriff of Beacon Hills at the tender age of twenty six... You might be surprised what I’d believe these days,” Stiles chuckles and the sound doesn’t quite hit the right note, even to his own ears; it’s a weary and humourless laugh.

“Fair enough,” Parrish smiles and ducks his head.

Not for the first time since he’d moved back here permanently, Stiles wishes he could fall for someone like Jordan Parrish. He’s got what Stiles’ Babcia would have called ‘a kind face’.

The guy is sweet, he works hard, he’s polite to everyone and he’s loyal to a fault. Parrish has never once pissed Stiles off, never made Stiles want to murder him and he’s certainly never caused Stiles any bodily harm with a steering wheel. On paper, the guy is perfect. Unfortunately, Stiles doesn’t want perfect.

“Just tell me Jordan,” Stiles says and he shakes his head back and forth, as if that will clear it of wayward thoughts of stubbly jawlines and seriously expressive, black eyebrows.

“Ok. Well... Lydia’s just dropped this off, she said to let you sleep today and to tell you she’s booked us flights for about four hours from now. Scott’s found Monroe. He’s actually found her Stiles. She’s holed up in the Nevada desert, of all places,” Parrish speaks plainly, but his eyes burn with fury, “Malia and Scott are there now, staking the place out. It’s like some sort of a cave system but they’re going to wait for us... all of us. She’s alone.” 

Stiles stands up, knowing this is it, this is what they’ve been waiting for; they’ve been searching for Monroe for over eight years, picking up the pieces in her wake of destruction as she attempted to rid the world of supernaturals, never getting close enough to her to end it for good.

They’d followed her all over America, to England, Russia and now they were about to apparently head back to Mexico.

Stiles isn’t going to tell his Dad he’s going, he doesn’t want to put him in any more danger. He had only moved back to Beacon Hills following his Dad’s retirement earlier this year to be closer to him, to look after him; or that’s what he tells himself when he can’t sleep at night.

He tells himself that moving back didn’t have anything to do with the the fact that he’s nursing a broken heart. It most definitely didn’t have anything to do with Derek freaking Hale. Nothing to do with him at all.

—————

Devon- England- August 2019

—————

As Stiles slips on some wet rocks and puts his hand in an unidentified, squishy, fish smelling mess, not for the first time that day, he looks skyward for answers. He silently asks the heavens what he’s done so wrong in a past life to deserve this shit.

“Dude, you ok?” Scott calls out from behind him, his voice echoing in the large cave entrance. 

Stiles can see the dying sun bouncing off his friend’s dark curls when he glances back and Scott looks the epitome of the American tourist. He’s wearing a vest, board shorts and flip flops and he looks tan and relaxed. And also, he looks graceful as he jumps easily from rock to rock. Stiles frowns at him.

“No, I am not ok. We’ve been here for two weeks already. I don’t think we’re going to find her living in this cave full of bat shit,” Stiles grumps, unusually fed up.

“Come on. You were all up for it a few weeks ago,” Scott arrives at his side and pulls him up, grimacing when Stiles deliberately uses his fishy hand.

“Well that was when I was under the impression we’d be staying at Jackson and Ethan’s, in their very stylish high rise apartment overlooking the Thames... I thought it would be like American Werewolf in London. Just without all the maiming and killing. Instead, it’s more like ‘The Holiday’. I still can’t believe we’re staying in an actual cottage. Without any of the romance and fun parts...” Stiles carries on walking, sneakers sliding precariously on the wet rocks again.

“It’s not my fault. Lydia said they’d tracked her here as a last known sighting,” Scott shrugs.

“I know, but why Jackson and Ethan couldn’t follow up is beyond me. I had vacation plans with my Dad, Scotty. We were going to a retreat to celebrate his upcoming retirement. There was going to be a spa day and lots of relaxation. They won awards for their juice cleanse. A spa day Scotty. With massage!” Stiles grumps.

“Dude, I know. I’m sorry,” Scott stops walking and he sounds so dejected.

“Hey. Look,” Stiles is helpless as usual in the face of his best friend’s wide, sad eyes, “I’m just extra cranky because I got sunburnt yesterday.”

“And it’s nothing to do with how your Dad keeps instagramming his own vacation and Derek’s in most of the photos with him?” Scott grins slyly.

Stiles narrows his eyes. He should know better than to fall for Scott’s ‘kicked puppy’ routine by now.

“He took him to a BBQ restaurant Scott... And they took on the full rib rack challenge. Dad won. Derek’s a werewolf, with a werewolf appetite. I once saw him eat four meat lovers pizzas. And Dad. Still. Won...” Stiles growls, as if Scott doesn’t know.

The photo his Dad had posted at the restaurant, with his arm slung around Derek’s neck, both of them with stained bibs on, had actually melted Stiles a little. The way Derek was grinning, front little bunny teeth on show, hit him right in the feels.

Derek deserved to be happy. If he found any measure of it keeping an eye on Stiles’ Dad, abundance of red meat or not, Stiles was secretly super pleased about it; he will continue to feign indignation though. 

“Let’s call it a day, I think the tide’s coming in,” Scott sniffs at the air.

“Suits me,” Stiles huffs and they walk back to the cottage along the coastal path, stopping only to grab two cones of chips from the seaside van on the way. Stiles, of course, drowns his in cheap ketchup.

They get back to the Cottage and Stiles takes a blissfully long bath, soothing his aching legs. His phone rings and he leans out, dries his hands on a towel and answers when he sees its Lydia.

“Hey Lyds,” he says clicking on speakerphone, sinking back down into the warm water. He swirls the bubbles around and makes himself a set of giant fluffy white breasts, smiling down at his artwork, jiggling them.

He lifts his arms out of the water to look at them and he’s pleased to see his sunburn has died down since yesterday, a tinge of pink now, rather than an angry red. Go aloe Vera gel.

“Hi. Listen... I’ve got some good news and some bad news. What do you want first?” Lydia cuts straight to the point and Stiles has always loved that about her.

It took him a while to realise that he loved her in a ‘you’re like a sister to me’ kind of way rather than a ‘put your tongue in my mouth’ kind of way. When he’d finally balled up and admitted that to her, she’d been relieved and said she’d been feeling the same. 

They’d lasted an amazing four weeks when they’d dated back at the end of High School. Stiles knew something was wrong when they’d both kept cracking up laughing every time they tried to get past second base.

“I’ll take the bad first, always. Then soothe me with the good,” he sighs, piling more foam up onto his chest. He also makes himself a foam Santa beard for good measure.

“Well... Monroe’s not in England. Not anymore. I’m not sure if she ever was. My source has disappeared and I’ve found some links that suggest he’s been linked to a few hunting families. I’ve already sent Theo and Liam to Russia, I’ve had more intel from a pack near there that she’s been trying to rally allies somewhere in the mountains near a little rural town. I only found out today,” Lydia says bluntly.

“Are you shitting me? I sacrificed two weeks with my Dad for this? Do you know how bad Scott’s feet smell when he’s been walking around in flip flops all day. I’m a man on the edge Lyds, I’m not sure I can survive until the flight home Friday...” Stiles sighs, balancing a rubber duck on his tummy, pushing his stomach out of the water to make a little island.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But the good news, I think you’ll enjoy the rest of your week a bit more in a minute,” Lydia says and Stiles can sense the tone of glee in her voice.

“What, now we can relax knowing Monroe isn’t here? There’s still shit all to do here, I’m going to spend my birthday in this Cottage, probably sober. That’s unacceptable. They don’t even have a local nightclub, the guy at the chip van laughed his ass off when I asked him. How am I supposed to get laid? Everyone’s about three hundred years old and they all wear welly’s and smell like fish. I’d be surprised if anyone ever has sex here. It’s sexless. Nothing sexy here for me,” Stiles groans and he looks down at his dick sadly, where the bubbles have parted. 

He adds more Mr. Matey bubble bath, turns the hot tap back on and contemplates hanging up and sexing himself.

“What time is it there?” Lydia says, ignoring him.

“Get to the good news now please. Its gone 7pm, why?” Stiles asks, closing his eyes and leaning back, letting the steam relax him.

He hears the door creak.

“For the last time Scott, I’m not playing Monopoly again, you’re completely shit at it,” Stiles calls wearily.

“Aww I wanted to be the boot,” his Dad’s voice rings out through the room.

Stiles shoots up, eyes wide and he’s pleased to see that although the rubber ducky loses its perch, his foamy breasts remain intact. Top craftsmanship.

“Dad!” He clambers out of the bath at the sight of his Dad in the doorway, looking tired as hell but face wrinkled in a fond smile. He remembers at the last second he’s naked, so he grabs a towel and ties it around his waist.

And thank the heavens he does because as he gets to his Dad, about to embrace him, Derek fucking Hale of all people, steps into his line of sight, filling the doorway. It’s nicer than Stiles would care to admit, to see his stubble and eyebrows reporting for duty.

Stiles just gawps, struck dumb. 

“Surprise!” Lydia calls out, “see you when you get back.” 

And Stiles hears the phone disconnect. 

Derek drags his eyes over Stiles and Stiles can feel himself flush at the possibility that Derek might be checking him out, even just slightly.

“I quite like monopoly,” Derek offers, voice smooth.

“Don’t tell me... you want to be the dog?” Stiles can’t help himself, not in any capacity, when it comes to Derek.

“I like to be the hat actually. Also, nice tits, Santa,” Derek says around a smirk and his Dad, his traitorous Dad, high fives Derek, throwing his head back and laughing.

When Stiles was sixteen, Derek had been twenty two and he’d been hot as hell then. All tight, hard body, dark stubble, grumpy eyebrows and a leather jacket, he’d featured in every single one of Stiles’ masturbatory fantasies from the day he met him up until.... well... he never really kicked the habit of picturing Derek as he jerked off.

If Derek had been hot at twenty two, at thirty one, Derek is positively devastating. His smile comes more easily now, a few laugh lines around his eyes but the rest of him hasn’t changed. His black hair is maybe a little longer, but still full and soft looking. Stiles tries to ignore his own hand when it twitches, hit with an insane urge to run his fingers though it.

Stiles sees him regularly when he’s home to visit his Dad in Beacon Hills. He still goes to the odd pack meetings, he see’s him just generally around the town, but somehow this feels different.

He wants to welcome Derek, to tell him how glad he is that he’s here.

“Did you see my Instagram? Derek took me to Smoke Tree for ribs last week, it was ridiculously good....” His Dad starts.

Stiles slams the door on them and he curses many things, including Liam teaching his Dad how to instagram.

Fuck his life.

—————

The thing is, Lydia’s absolutely right. The next week is a million times better. 

His Dad takes the spare third bedroom and Derek takes the pull out couch in the cosy sitting room. The only downside to the arrangement is that Stiles is treated to the sight of Derek’s unconscious, muscled torso every morning as he plods to the kitchen to get his morning coffee.

Stiles notices that Derek always wakes just as the coffee pot finishes brewing, nose twitching cutely, so Stiles always brings him a cup of joe. He gets used to ignoring the way his traitorous dick twitches at Derek’s gravelly morning voice, when he thanks him.

He and his Dad spend some time together and it’s blissful. They rent a little boat and go out fishing a couple of times. Derek finds a couple of surfboards in the garage on the second day after he arrives and he teaches Scott and Stiles to surf while the Sheriff sits on the beach, sunbathing and reading.

It’s almost perfect. Apart from the fact that the enormous crush that Stiles has been harbouring for Derek since the age of sixteen is so much worse when he gets to spend more quality time with him. Especially since they’re not in any imminent danger. Turns out a relaxed and happy Derek is Stiles’ kryptonite.

On the day before they’re due to fly home, it’s Stiles’ birthday. He and Scott had planned to head to the best (only) pub within 200 miles, so they stick to that plan with Derek and John in tow.

Stiles has that sun-kissed feeling clinging to his skin as he gets ready at the Cottage and he decides that considering it’s his birthday, he’s going to make an extra effort. You only turn twenty six once.

He puts on the only shirt he brought with him, a short sleeved, dark red number and he pairs it with some beige chinos. He steals his Dad’s boat shoes out of his case, not that he was ever going to wear them away. He peels the tags off them and he finishes his look by running his hand through his hair and popping on a little chapstick to protect against the sea air on the walk to the pub.

Stiles checks himself out in the mirror, happy with his finished look and he’s beginning to think the English coast agrees with him.

Stiles turns around when he hears a tap on the door frame and a clearing of a throat.

He grins when he sees its Derek, holding out a beer, his own half finished in his other hand.

Stiles takes it and shivers at the cold of the bottle and he takes a long drink, tipping his neck back.

When he looks back at Derek, he hasn’t moved; his eyes are blazing, not quite red but definitely showing a lot more pupil than usual.

Stiles swallows and he feels like he’s about to combust under Derek’s gaze and it’s not just the lingering sun on his skin making him feel that way.

He licks his lips, chasing the taste of the beer and he’s sure he isn’t imagining it when Derek’s eyes track the movement.

“Will I do?” Stiles says, not proud of how low his voice has dropped, trying to diffuse the moment and hopelessly not succeeding. 

What?” Derek says distractedly, eyes snapping back to his.

“You know? Do I look alright?” Stiles says, gesturing to himself and he turns around, giving Derek the full picture. He might wiggle his ass a little for extra effect.

“It’s an old country pub. I’m sure you’ll be the best dressed there,” Derek shrugs casually, but it sounds a little choked.

“Would it kill you to give me an actual compliment on my birthday?” Stiles jokes, not really expecting an answer.

Derek shifts from foot to foot, clearing his throat.

“Your lips...” Derek says slowly.

“My... my lips?” Stiles says, surprise on his face.

“Yes. They’re... Erm... they’re very... shiny...” Derek says, grimacing.

Stiles snorts out a laugh and Derek glares.

“Thank you. That’s what I was going for. I’m glad... err... glad you noticed,” Stiles smirks.

Stiles bites back a smile, chewing on his lower lip. He can see the individual lashes on Derek’s face.

They’re a little too close.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Stiles winks and Derek scents the air, nostrils flaring wildly, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are you two ready?” Scott calls from just outside the door and Derek jumps back like he’s been electrocuted.

“Yeah,” Derek grunts, leaving Stiles alone but not before giving him a long, last lingering look.

Stiles grins to himself and he drains his beer. 

This could be an interesting night after all.

—————

They enter the pub and Stiles immediately bursts out laughing. It’s only 8pm and there are exactly two people in there, one of those being the barman.

Aforementioned barman looks up, startled, as Stiles and Scott barrel through the doors, followed by Derek and the Sheriff who are deep in conversation about the best way to lay a wooden floor.

Derek being a part time handy man had come as shock to Stiles, but it kind of suited him. He’d said he liked to help the community, considering he didn’t have to work for money. People paid him anyway and the old dears absolutely loved him. And the young dears. And the old men. And young men. Pretty much everyone loves him.

Stiles is still haunted by the time he walked into his Dad’s garden and Derek had been on a ladder shirtless, with a tool belt slung low on his waist as he removed some low hanging branches from an overgrown tree. The guy should come with his own warning label, Stiles had walked into the side of the shed while he was gawping at him. 

When Stiles snaps himself out of his daydream, he manages to order a beer for each of them and he even buys the old guy in the corner one. He tips the barman, who thanks him and takes a shot for himself, grinning. 

Stiles chats to him for a while when Derek and his Dad take a seat, still engrossed in conversation. The barman’s name is George and he lives at the pub with his parents and he’s thirty two. He’s never visited America, always wanted to though and this is about as busy as his pub ever gets on a Friday night. He’s very chatty and coming from Stiles, that is really saying something.

Scott befriends the old dude in the corner, mainly because he has an ancient looking wolfhound at his feet. Scott immediately gets down on the floor to pet it (of course). Turns out the guy’s name is Alfred, he’s eighty nine years of age and he’s lived here his whole life. 

The dog is called Chew. And it’s nothing to do with how much he resembles a certain Star Wars character, Scott discovers, but based on what he does best. Chews stuff.

Three hours later sees Stiles, three beers deep (he can’t get drunk because their flight is early and hangover on a long haul-no thank you sir) and dancing on one of the old wooden tables. Mr Brightside blasts loudly from Scott’s phone, which they’d plugged into an ancient looking speaker that was completely covered in dust: George the barman had provided it at Stiles’ insistence that they make this ‘a party’.

George, bless his soul, even though he clearly has no rhythm to speak of, gallantly lifts Stiles down and twirls him around the pub as Alfred claps and cheers.

Stiles, out of breath as the song ends, runs back to the table and immediately notices Derek’s trademark scowl in place.

He’s barely seen it all week and it gives him a pang of nostalgia. He grins slowly at Derek as the next song starts.

Scott jumps up when he hears the beat and even his Dad gets to his feet, pulling Alfred with him.

The opening to Galway girl fills the pub and George heads behind the bar to fill their glasses, dancing around the others make shift dance floor, in front of the bar.

Stiles beckons to Derek, crooking a finger at him.

“Absolutely not,” Derek crosses his arms and sinks further back into his seat.

“She played a fiddle in an Irish band, but she fell in love with an Englishman!” Stiles cries out and grabs Derek’s hand.

Derek startles alarmed and yanks, pulling Stiles toward him. Stiles has to brace a knee on the bench next to Derek, otherwise he’s going to end up straddling him.

Stiles looks mischievous as hell and he leans in close to Derek’s ear.

“It’s my birthday, come on Der... just one dance,” his breath makes the hair on Derek’s neck stand up and Stiles is pleased when Derek shivers.

“No. I don’t dance,” Derek grunts, but he doesn’t sound as sure as before.

“Well... I could always ask George again...” Stiles whispers.

Derek’s on his feet and dragging Stiles away from the table by his wrist, taking care not to really hurt him.

He yanks him in close to his body, ignoring the others. 

John, George and Scott are mesmerised by Alfred, who seems to be channeling his inner Micheal Flatley and is treating them to some sort of bizarre spastic river dance, flying all over the place. Alfred is very red in the face, as the others cheer him on. Chew snoozes on in the corner, unimpressed. He’s probably seen it all before.

Derek sways with the music, but he keeps Stiles pressed into the long line of his body, rocking back and forth. He hooks his chin over Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles wraps his arms around his waist.

It’s a nice fit, they’re the same height, almost.

“This isn’t really a slow dance kind of song you know,” Stiles laughs into Derek’s cheek.

“Told you... I don’t dance,” Derek says, but his voice is soft. 

Derek rubs his cheek back and forth against Stiles’ with a huff and Stiles has to remind himself that they’re in a very small pub with his best friend, his father and two strangers before he does something ridiculous, like kiss Derek’s stupid face.

When the finishing notes of the song play, Derek lets him go but he doesn’t go to sit down, he just... lingers, looking at Stiles.

John heads for the toilet, stumbling a little, just as Scott’s phone rings. Stiles knows it’s about 4pm back in Cali and Melissa would just be finishing her day shift at the hospital, she usually calls about now to check in with him. Scott covers one ear and heads outside to take the call.

Stiles plugs his own phone into the speaker and he loads up a playlist.

As George rounds the bar and places their new round of drinks down, the next song rings out and George looks at Stiles hopefully.

Derek looks between George and Stiles. Stiles feels Derek’s low growl vibrate his bones and his dick twitches traitorously and that is not an appropriate danger response.

“I know this one!” Alfred calls out from his stool where he’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, using his wooden cane to get to his feet again and he makes a beeline for George, much to Derek’s amusement and George’s dismay.

George had looked like he’d been heading for Stiles and now he’s helping the old guy shake his cane about.

Stiles pushes Derek back down onto the bench.

“You can just watch this one,” He winks and proceeds to torture Derek visually, with his extremely enthusiastic and unexpectedly erotic dance interpretation of “Get low”.

The Sheriff calls time on the whole situation when he comes back from the toilets right at the minute Alfred starts yelling, “Sweat drop down my balls!” as he smacks a horrified George’s ass with his cane.

—————

As they walk back to the cottage, Scott goes on ahead with the inebriated Sheriff, helping him along. 

Derek and Stiles drag their feet a little. Stiles knows he’s doing it intentionally, but he’s not sure about Derek.

When Derek meanders from the path and cocks an eyebrow questioningly at him, Stiles calls to Scott that they’ll be right behind them.

It’s a lie.

They continue to walk along the beach adjacent to the cottages and it’s dark, lit only by the dim lights coming from the path lights and the moon. Stiles looks over at Derek and realises he has never felt more safe and isn’t that ironic.

Derek sits down on the cool sand, moon bright in the sky and Stiles joins him, leaning back on his hands and inhaling the salty air.

The sound of the nearby waves is soothing and Stiles can’t help but smile, completely blissed out when he looks over at Derek. He expects to see a similar expression on his face but Derek’s handsome face is cloudy.

“Dude. What’s wrong?” Stiles says worriedly, sitting up.

Derek turns away from him, staring out into the darkness.

“This week has been... its been great,” Derek bites out, like it pains him to say.

“Yeah. Dude, yeah it really has. I don’t want to ever leave,” Stiles nods, completely in agreement.

Derek looks at him. His gaze is intense, the moment is ridiculously charged. Stiles is just about to throw it all in the fuck it bucket and kiss him when Derek gets to his feet and takes off his T-shirt.

Stiles is almost eye level with his torso and he knows he’s blatantly staring at the thick dark hair under Derek’s naval, captivated. He can’t stop looking.

Derek pops the button on his jeans.

“Ohmygod what is happening right now?” Stiles chokes out, getting to his knees and looking up at Derek from under his long lashes.

“I don’t want to go home either. So I’m going for one last dip in the water... one for the memories?” Derek looks down at him as he deliberately slides his jeans down his legs, kicking his shoes off in the process.

Stiles is left facing Derek in just his boxers and he hurries to gets to his feet.

Derek leans in and Stiles thinks he’s about to get his birthday wish when Derek shoves him on his ass in the sand and sprints away from him toward the ocean, laughing, shedding his boxers as he goes.

“Fuck,” Stiles scrambles upright and runs down the beach, chasing the sight of Derek’s bare ass. 

His shirt takes longer to remove than he’d hoped and his tight chinos prove a momentary regret but he’s buck ass naked as he hits the shoreline, Derek already swimming in barely there waves. The sea is calm and it’s not freezing but it is cold enough to make Stiles yelp as his feet enter the water.

He doesn’t stop and he paddles out to meet Derek, laughing as he goes. He dips beneath the surface and when he emerges, he finds he can stand, the water hitting him at around the nipples and he waves his arms to stay in place, unswayed by the tide.

Derek bobs closer to him and Stiles can see the moonlight bouncing off the water on his lashes.

Derek stops when they’re in arms reach and every now and again, Stiles can feel his feet touch Derek’s.

Stiles’ heart is pounding when Derek takes his hand and tugs him the rest of the distance toward him.

He has to place his hands on Derek’s shoulders to stop himself floating away.

“Der...” Stiles starts, not knowing what he’s going to say to explain how much he wants this, how long he’s wanted this for.

Derek kisses him instead, cutting him off with a hard press of his mouth. He pulls back after a second, giving Stiles the room to say no, so Stiles pulls him back in, licking into his mouth enthusiastically.

He’s rewarded with a groan and Derek’s hands wrapping around his back, digging into his ass as he pulls Stiles toward his body. Stiles wraps his legs around him easily, letting Derek support them in the shallow water.

Derek breaks the kiss to bite at his neck, which leaves Stiles’ mouth free, which he’s not sure is the best thing.

“Holy shit. I knew my dancing would win you over,” Stiles laughs breathlessly, finally carding a hand into Derek’s hair.

Derek sucks a mark into his neck and pulls off with a grunt when Stiles rocks into him, feeling his dick brush Derek’s.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” Derek tells him and his voice is pure want, making Stiles’ dick pulse.

“Tell me then...” Stiles demands, tugging on his hair as he rocks his hips into him again.

Stiles gets a hand between them and he grips Derek’s cock. Stiles grins when he realises it is thick. It’s very thick, he amends, when he can’t quite close his fingers together and by the feel of him, he’s also uncut. He stokes Derek hard, grip tight and he is rewarded with Derek growling and biting him on the lip.

“In the pub,” Derek grunts, as Stiles starts jerking him, “I was jealous when you danced with George. He wanted you, you know. I could smell it.” 

“No fucking way,” Stiles whines when Derek gets a hold of his dick, working him harder than the grip he’s currently got on Derek.

Stiles would feel inadequate but he knows he’s got a nice cock, he’s seen a lot of porn for comparison. He’s cut, but long and he’s thick himself. Maybe not quite as thick as Derek but no-ones is like Derek.

Derek grabs Stiles’ hand and he pushes their dicks together, closing his large fist around them both. His fingers close over the top of Stiles’ hand and Stiles whole body rocks when Derek fucks up into their conjoined fist.

“Holy shit,” Stiles cries out at the sensation, dicks sliding together.

“I promise, he wanted you. But not as much as I did. As I do,” Derek snarls and his eyes flash red.

Stiles kisses him and licks over where his teeth are slightly too long to be human, Derek sucking and biting gently at his lower lip.

Their thrusts become furious and when Derek uses the hand he has on Stiles’ ass to ghost down his crack and press a finger at his hole, they’re both done for.

Stiles comes with a sigh, lips still on Derek’s and Derek follows him seconds later, dick pulsing in their joined hands.

Derek kisses him slowly before putting him down on his feet in the water, but he still doesn’t let him go.

Stiles looks at him like he’s some wonderful thing and it feels awkward now, like now is the time he should probably tell Derek what he wants or how he feels. He’s met with the sudden recollection of what Derek said before going into the water.

“For the memories?” He’d said. 

Maybe this was a ‘what happens in England stays in England’ situation. Derek had never really given any indication he’d wanted Stiles back in Beacon Hills.

So, Stiles settles for his usual defence in any situation where he’s feeling insecure. Misplaced light humour, just to test the waters, no pun intended. 

“So how about that for a holiday romance huh? One for the memories, like you said. Ten minutes and a hand job in the sea. That won’t be a story to share with your future wife huh,” Stiles quips.

Derek freezes, body going tense.

“Wait...” Stiles realises, horrified at how that had actually sounded. That’s not what he’d wanted to say, not even close.

“No. It’s cool. You’re right,” Derek steps back, letting him go, plastering this smile on his face, but it’s the kind that makes Stiles’ guts clench. It’s so forced.

“Derek...” Stiles begins, reaching out for him.

“No seriously Stiles. It’s cool. One for the memories right?” Derek’s tone is neutral, but everything about his body language is screaming ‘wrong’ to Stiles.

Stiles has to watch wordlessly as Derek swims away, his back a tense line as he walks back up the beach collecting his things.

Derek doesn’t say a word to him the whole journey home, flight included.

—————

Beacon Hills- January 2020

—————

The next few months that Stiles spends at home fly by in a daze and before he knows what’s happened, Christmas has been and gone and it’s the new year. He’d been confused and hurt about what happened with Derek, but he’d also been preoccupied with his Dad’s retirement.

He’d applied to be his replacement in the September, even if he was a little young for it. He’s certainly had the necessary police experience. His degree in Criminal justice helped the process along and it made it even easier that no-one else actually applied for the job.

Beacon Hills has a reputation, even in the human world and it seems no-one else had been attracted to the vacancy.

It suited Stiles because he’d been thinking about spending more time with his Dad lately anyway, so having a job in his home town was actually kind of perfect. Virginia was getting old and the travel back and forth was becoming a major hassle. He even rents an apartment.

Before England, being closer to the pack had been a primary reason to put down some roots but now Derek’s reverted back to how he was when they first met, Stiles is almost regretting his decision.

He still attends pack meetings but Derek is careful to not be left alone with him, always ensuring Malia and Scott are in attendance. Once, he even asked Lydia to stay behind to talk about some non-specific issue, because he noticed Stiles lingering.

It’s frustrating as hell, but Stiles gets enveloped in settling into his new routine and so many new cases. So he’s genuinely surprised when he realises it’s January.

Liam and Theo hadn’t returned yet from their last mission and the Russian winter was proving to be draining on them.

They’d tracked Monroe to an old mountain range but a few serious storms had meant they couldn’t advance as much as they’d wanted to. What they’d thought would be weeks had actually turned into five months.

When Stiles realises he needs to take a couple of weeks vacation time in the January, Lydia must smell blood in the water.

“I need to switch Liam and Theo out, I think they’ve gone a bit stir crazy,” She tells him over cocktails one evening.

“I’ve got a few weeks vacation time coming up...” Stiles shrugs. 

Part of him thinks they’ll never catch Monroe but somehow, it’s something that none of them can give up. Plus, if he isn’t working he will probably sit around moping about Derek and that’s not good for anyone.

Lydia senses his jadedness.

“You know, when she got to Moscow last year, she managed to slaughter six members of the Ivanov pack. I’m scared Stiles. They’re strong, the strongest even. And when I spoke to Alexei, he told me how he found Sofia, Maxim and Ivan... little Ivan Stiles...” her voice breaks and Stiles knows the years they’ve spent on this have taken their toll on Lydia the most.

She became obsessed with taking down Monroe, taking it on herself as her duty. Back in the early days, she would work into the early hours of the morning, muttering about how what happened in Beacon Hills wouldn’t happen to anyone else again.

What Lydia had managed to achieve, having them chasing Monroe across the world, had stopped Monroe gaining a proper foothold. Even if they hadn’t caught up with her, they were sort of limiting her damage.

But Monroe still managed to inflict pain and suffering wherever she went, as Russia could testify.

And because they always worked off Lydia's research, off her intel, she always felt extra responsible.

There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that all of them would stand by her to see this done. A world where Monroe was free to spread her hatred for Supernaturals wasn’t a world where anyone would ever be safe again.

“We will get her Lyds... this is the closest I think we’ve ever been,” Stiles nods, grabbing her hand and he means it.

“So you can go?” She says, eyes pleading and wide.

“You know I’ll go...” Stiles tells her.

“I’ll book the flight,” she says nodding, eyes wet.

Stiles blames the Espresso Martini’s for why he forgot to ask who would be his partner for the trip. He’d assumed Malia or Scott, possibly Parrish, as technically they were next in rotation. 

It’s not until he’s at the airport the next morning, rucksack on his back until he realises he’s made a mistake.

He walks into the terminal and immediately his eyes are drawn to the coffee stand and it has nothing to do with the coffee.

Derek scents the air and turns, eyes meeting his.

Derek bites his lip and points at the cart, raising a brow in question.

Stiles nods.

He’s going need all the coffee he can get, if he’s going to make it through this alive.

—————

Siberia- Russia- January 2020

—————

The journey is long. That actually doesn’t do it justice. The journey is long as shit.

By the time they’ve flown into Moscow, it’s too late to do much apart from rent a couple of hotel rooms at an airport hotel and sleep. 

They agree to meet Theo and Liam at the hotel and they spend the morning catching up and having breakfast together before Stiles and Derek rent a jeep and begin the journey across into the Altai Mountains.

Derek insists on driving for longer, even though they switch out for a while. Stiles can barely find it in himself to argue, he’s so unbelievably tired; instead he makes himself useful by navigating, using Theo’s co-ordinates.

They’re looking for an old cabin where Theo and Liam had set up, just as a base, before they’re going to make the long trek on foot down into what the boys had described as an abandoned military camp.

Well, sort of abandoned. That’s where they suspect that Monroe is, protected by a small following of hunters she’d gathered together.

Theo and Liam had been loath to go home when they knew they were so close, especially after investing so much of their time but even Stiles had to admit they didn’t look great. They were both so thin, the harsh Russian winter, near isolation and months of snow storms having taken their toll.

However, in the end, Theo and Liam knew they were a team and as upset as they were to leave, they’d handed over the details to Derek and Stiles knowing that any victory they had would be victory for all of them. 

Plus, no one questioned Lydia’s orders. It was the one thing she’d stipulated when she’d gathered them all together the night after they’d driven Monroe out of Beacon Hills eight years ago. 

—————

She’d gotten them all together and explained her idea at Derek’s loft; her grandest of plans in it’s infancy at the time, but they’d been hooked. She’d given them an option whether or not they wanted to be involved, knowing that it could potentially consume them all. 

They’d have to basically up and leave everything based on finding Monroe, whenever, wherever they were in their lives, however long it took to find her. Lydia had promised she’d do her best to cause the least disruption for them, but she wouldn’t be able to control everything. 

And it would be dangerous. More than dangerous. But the alternative was that Monroe would be free to reign unchecked and Lydia wasn’t ok with having more death on her conscience. She felt like she’d been given both a gift and curse with her Banshee scream and she intended to use it for the greater good.

She’d presented her idea to them, then left the room that night to let them discuss it and Stiles remembers it like it was yesterday. He remembers the absolute silence most of all, no one wanting to be the first to speak.

Jackson and Ethan had bowed out first, but said they’d support where they could. They just weren’t willing to give up their lives and Stiles didn’t really blame them. Mason had just looked on haunted, eventually confessing he was planning on moving away. Brett and Lori’s death had broken something inside Liam, he was the first to say he was staying and he wanted in.

And so followed Scott, of course, because he will feel responsible for Liam until his last breath. Malia had surprised them all by saying she needed to think about it, possibly something to do with Peter disappearing again. She did eventually join them, but it came a year later.

Stiles remembers looking at Derek and just meeting those stormy eyes and he’d given away nothing, stubbly jaw set rigid. He’d just stared Stiles down.

Stiles had chewed on his lip until he couldn’t take everyone staring at him expectantly anymore and he’d gone into Derek’s kitchen, away from the group.

He’d helped himself to Derek’s fridge and was chugging juice from the carton when he had felt someone behind him.

“Scotty... I just... it’s my Dad... I don’t know if I can...” Stiles sighed, turning, surprised to see it wasn’t Scott that had followed him.

“I know. Stiles. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re in the FBI academy. You don’t have to do this, even if Scott is. I don’t want... you shouldn’t want that for yourself and you shouldn’t feel guilty for that...” Derek had said softly, leaning back against his kitchen cabinets, crossing his arms.

At the time it was probably the most Stiles had ever heard him say in one go.

“And what about you Derek? You haven’t given your answer yet... you could have a life too you know... find someone... be happy...” Stiles had told him, unreasonably angry for some reason.

He didn’t want this for any of them. Especially not Derek, whose life had been filled with pain and loss already.

“I could...” Derek agreed nodding and Stiles hadn’t known what to do with an agreeable Derek. Angry Derek, yes. Frustrated Derek, he definitely would have had a response. Hurt Derek, he would have tried to comfort him. But an agreeable Derek, well, that was a new and very different kettle of fish.

Stiles had sighed and pushed past him, sitting back down in Derek’s spot just to annoy him. Derek just sat on the floor by his feet leaning back into Stiles’ legs and again, Stiles didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d looked around where everyone was still looking at him, waiting for his answer.

“Oh for heavens sake, what are you all even looking at? You know I’m going!” He’d said, crossing his arms and sitting back in the chair with a huff, accidentally nudging Derek with his foot.

“Me too...” had come Derek’s fast response, but he hadn’t been looking around the room like Stiles had been. He’d been looking only up at Stiles.

—————

Stiles is snapped out of his reverie, back to the cold mountains of Russia by Derek’s gruff voice announcing they’d arrived at the cabin

Stiles sits up and he has no idea how Derek knows that because it’s pitch black everywhere.

“I don’t mean to be a doubter but how the hell do you know that?” Stiles asks him.

Derek had killed the lights about five miles ago and they’d been slowly ascending a narrow road. 

Derek looks at him like he’s stupid.

“Because the cabin is right there...” Derek says slowly, as if Stiles needs all the help he can get.

“Yes, well, not all of us have supernatural eyesight dumbass,” Stiles huffs.

Derek rolls his eyes so hard Stiles worries they might get stuck that way.

He grabs Stiles’ chin and tilts his head so he’s looking behind him and low and behold, in the darkness he can indeed see the outline of a building, even in the near darkness, with his own normal human eyes.

“Oh... well you didn’t say it was behind us,” Stiles says, trying to ignore his traitorous heart, which had started pounding wildly the second Derek touched him.

Derek starts to back up the rental, putting the jeep under the cover of a large, snow covered tree next to the building.

They grab their backpacks and use the key Liam gave them to enter the cabin. The door sticks and Stiles gets ready to be met with slum like conditions. He steps in behind Derek, who flicks on a little lamp and he gasps, unable to hide his shock.

The place is spotless. Its only two rooms, a living area and toilet with a sink separate. There are two large chairs and just the one bed, but it’s cosy looking. 

Its even got a little welcome basket filled with fruit and sandwiches and a note in it on the little coffee table. It has a few bottles of water in.

Stiles picks up the note in shock.

“Ms Martin said new friends come here today, so I hope this finds you well. I will be at cabin at 6pm tomorrow in case you need things and Ms Martin said if you not here, I am to inform her immediately. Have lovely time stay. Alexei x.”

“Is this... is this a freaking air b n b?!” Stiles exclaims.

He sees Derek’s shoulders shaking from laughing, even though he’s facing awayfrom him.

“You knew. You’re both complete assholes, I thought we’d be slumming it,” Stiles huffs, throwing some wood in the fireplace and attempting to light it. It might be clean but the cabin is freezing.

Derek comes over to help.

“Well it’s not a Hilton exactly is it,” Derek says and Stiles can see his breath in the air it’s so cold.

“Well no, but I thought it would be a lot more more spit an sawdust,” Stiles offers, rubbing two of the pieces of wood together to try to get the fire going.

“Lydia told me it was far enough away and in a mostly populated area that Monroe wouldn’t suspect we’d be here. We’re covered by the mountain, we’ve got quite a trek tomorrow. About four hours from the look of it on the map. We’re just scouting tomorrow, then if we can confirm she’s there, we’re to call in everyone...” Derek tells him.

“Yes, I do know the plan, thank you sir,” Stiles huffs.

He tries to ignore the way Derek’s eyes flash at that.

Derek leans over him and throws some papers into the hearth. Stiles stands up to give him room and he nearly falls on his ass when he sees the fire spark to life.

“Oh my god, you’re awesome. Did you do the stick thing at wolf speed?” Stiles tries to peer over his shoulder and Derek nudges him back and stands up.

He holds up his lighter, again, looking at Stiles like he’s a dumbass.

“Well obviously I knew that would be the fastest way, I just thought you wanted an authentic experience,” Stiles huffs.

“Of what? An authentic experience of a night in a cabin, in the middle of no-where, a place just where we will spend a few nights before we potentially might die by the hands of a genocidal maniac? You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t use this trip as an excuse to expand my survival skills,” Derek growls, grabbing his pack and taking out a book.

“Well excuse me, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine tonight, even more so than goddamn usual,” Stiles growls back.

Derek settles on the bed, kicking off his boots and Stiles sits in the chair, both of them eating their sandwiches in angry silence. 

Stiles gets his book out, vows to ignore Derek and settles down for the evening. He yawns as soon as he’s finished a few chapters and he looks over to see Derek already curled over on his side, breath coming steady. Derek has gotten his sleeping bag out but he’s not in it yet, he’s just laying inside of it, flap unzipped.

Stiles can’t help but think he looks younger when he’s asleep, softer somehow. Stiles wants to run his hands through his hair, but he doesn’t.

Stiles isn’t sleeping upright in a chair, not on his life. He toes off his boots and jeans, cabin warm and cosy as he realises he’s left his sleeping bag in the car. He’s not going back out into the cold to fetch it. It’s warm enough in here anyway and he gets into the bed after throwing three of the biggest logs he can find right into the dwindling fire, satisfied that will probably keep it going until morning.

Derek doesn’t so much as twitch as he worms his way under the blankets and he falls asleep immediately, warm and exhausted.

He wakes up freezing his balls off and still exhausted, teeth literally chattering, to the sound of Derek’s voice.

“Stiles, you’re going kind of blue...” Derek says sleepily, nudging him with his foot. Stiles can only see the middle of his face, he’s zipped himself into his sleeping bag sometime in the night.

“Shit... Jesus, why’s it so cold?” Stiles tries to bury under the blanket but he can’t feel his legs.

“Fire went out. Did you mess with it?” Derek judges, like the Judgey McJudgerson he is.

“N....n....no?” Stiles chatters.

“Lie,” Derek says, unzipping his bag.

“I thought more logs were a good thing,” Stiles whines.

Derek walks over to the fire, faffs around about for a minute with his lighter and Stiles can see it spring back to life.

If Stiles didn’t think his dick was going to fall off with the cold, he might have appreciated Derek’s shirtless torso for minute, as he walked back to the bed in just his boxers.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Stiles whimpers.

“Nope. Werewolf. Plus my sleeping bag is cosy. Where’s yours?” Derek says, unzipping his to the bottom before getting in.

“In the car. Fetch?” Stiles tries.

“Theres a snowstorm,” Derek points toward the window. Stiles looks and indeed he can see a flurry outside.

“Great, I’ll just die here,” Stiles says, and seriously, he can’t feel his hands now. He groans.

“Get in,” Derek mumbles, already looking like he’s nearly asleep again but holding up the flap of his own sleeping bag.

“Excuse me?” Stiles squawks.

“Last chance,” Derek murmurs, leaning down and starting to pull the zip up slowly.

Stiles scrambles out from under the blanket, regrets it immediately when the frigid air hits his bare legs but he manages to plaster himself to Derek in a total of four seconds flat.

Derek zips the rest of the bag closed and Stiles can feel that he’s tense, pressed up against him. There’s just enough room that Derek’s on his back, so Stiles curls into his side, trying not to touch him anyplace sexy.

Although, he doesn’t know who he’s kidding, if he’s making contact with the man’s body, it’s Derek, hence it will be somewhere sexy.

Stiles has a mad thought that even if he touched the guys pinky finger, it would still probably be sexy.

He lets out a mad little giggle, probably insane with the beginnings of hyperthermia and his whole body shivers. Derek looks at him, face illuminated by the growing fire.

“Still cold?” Derek asks, face giving nothing away.

“A... a bit... bett.... better....” Stiles says, flexing his fingers to keep the blood going, trying not to shudder even more as they brush against Derek’s skin.

It turns out it’s redundant because Derek shifts a little closer, legs pressing against Stiles’. He is still laying on his back but the warmth of his body seeps into Stiles’.

Stiles gives out a little happy sigh, and he eventually falls asleep, tips of his fingers just grazing Derek’s biceps.

When he wakes up for the second time, in total contrast to the first, he’s absolutely on fire.

There are flames roaring in the hearth, room toasty once again and Derek is plastered all along his back, body curled around him.

Derek’s arms are around his chest and his ass is nestled into Derek’s crotch. Derek’s even breathing and soft snuffling in his ear would suggest he’s very much still asleep.

“I’ve read romance novels that started just like this,” Stiles mumbles as he tries to untangle himself, to save some face when Derek wakes up.

It’s not much use because as he wriggles, Derek shifts so he’s partially on top of him, slinging a leg over his and effectively pinning him in place.

“Ooomph,” Stiles mutters, at the very least trying to not rock back into Derek, “unhand me you fiend.”

But Derek just resumes his steady breathing, stubble tickling the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles has two choices. He either wakes Derek and they both have no choice but to enter into an awkward conversation about how Derek apparently likes to snuggle him and possibly address some buried feelings on the back of their England trip, or, (and Stiles quite likes this option) he just goes back to sleep and enjoys the snuggles.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to choose because Derek rolls his hips, with purpose, solid dick poking into the flesh of Stiles’ ass.

“Oh shit,” Stiles whines, trying to think of many unsexy things but he’s doomed. He’s been hard as a rock since he opened his eyes and how could he not be. He’s been practically in love with Derek since he first laid eyes on him, back at the age of sixteen in the woods.

The fact they’re both in their boxers is doing little to conceal the shape of Derek’s dick from Stiles. He hadn’t seen much of him in England and that was a travesty, but he feels bigger than Stiles remembers, pressed up against him like this.

Derek rocks into him again, breath still coming steady and Stiles knows he’s going to have to wake him, he can’t take advantage of him like this.

Stiles’ leaking dick is telling him him otherwise though. Derek moves again, hands still around him. He presses up under Stiles’ t-shirt, making it ride up and he slides one large hand lower splaying wide on his stomach. The tips of his fingers are resting just inside Stiles’ boxers, literately a centimetre from his dick and the other brushes over his nipple and he just settles again.

Stiles lets out a groan and it’s half horny as fuck and half frustration but he bites the bullet and speaks loudly.

“Dude. Believe me when I say I do not want this to stop but I know you’re going to regret it when you wake up! I know you wanted a one time thing, so wake up and please don’t kill me, this is all on you!” He groans, pressing back into Derek one last time.

Derek’s breathing doesn’t change. Stiles feels him run his flat palm over his chest again and when Derek takes his nipple between his fingers and just pinches, he’s embarrassed that he nearly comes.

Derek licks the back of his neck and bites him there and it should be gross, but it makes Stiles want to roll on his belly and invite him to put his tongue all over him.

“I’m not asleep,” Derek’s voice is dirt low in his ear and he punctuates his words by using his other hand to yank Stiles’ boxers down.

“What?! Oh,” Stiles groans, realising he’d made a huge error by assuming Derek’s ministrations were unconscious.

“Ohhhh,” he repeats, as Derek fumbles between them and he feels Derek’s naked dick sliding against the crack of his ass.

“And I know you meant you’ve seen porn that started like this, not read romance novels. Don’t forget that time you fell asleep researching at my loft and you left your laptop open,” Derek nips his neck again, eliciting a whine from Stiles.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles is pushing back shamelessly into Derek now, Derek’s precome aiding the slide of his dick, “how dare you invade my privacy. Just for the record, it was pure coincidence if you found any porn where the guys had stubble and that one with the furry....” he trails off, unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of Derek.

Derek grabs his ass with his free hand and spreads his ass cheek, as much as the space will allow and they both grunt when the tip of Derek’s dick catches on his dry hole.

Stiles bites down on Derek’s forearm which only makes Derek hump against him harder.

“Der, I need... I need...” Stiles doesn’t even know what he needs. 

He knows what he wants. And what he wants is Derek inside him, but they’re in a sleeping bag and Stiles is seconds from coming anyway. 

“I know what you need. I want to fuck you. God Stiles, you’ve no idea what I want to do to you,” Derek growls and the tip of his cock is a blunt pressure against Stiles’ hole.

Stiles is struck in that moment with a surety that he knows Derek’s not going to hurt him, he trusts Derek with his life. Stiles arches his head back so his neck is a long line of pale inviting skin in front of Derek, who growls at the sight.

Derek laces his fingers between his and he bites down hard on the tendon and Stiles comes all over himself, completely untouched.

Derek makes a feral sound and shudders and Stiles feels it when he comes, wet and warm, right on his clenching hole.

They’re both breathing harshly and it smells like come and fresh sweat so Stiles unzips the bag a little, getting his legs out.

Derek growls and pins him down and proceeds to lick his softening dick clean. It’s easily the most erotic experience of Stiles’ life and he gets hard again so fast he gets dizzy. When Derek takes him in his mouth, the sight of his dark head moving up and down is nothing compared to when he looks up at Stiles, laid out on his back.

Stiles gets his hands in Derek’s hair and pulls him off and he just takes him in. Derek’s eyes are heavy lidded , his pupils are blown and his lips are red and shiny with spit.

“You’re so fucking... everything,” Stiles tells him, because he is.

Derek’s eyes flash red and he licks a stripe straight up Stiles’ dick, pausing to suck hard on his cut tip, grazing his teeth over him and Stiles bucks off bed.

It’s nearly all over when Derek takes him deep, throat like a vice, fluttering around him. It’s definitely game set and match when Derek feels for Stiles’ hole, massaging his own come around his tight entrance and pushing a thick finger inside.

Stiles comes hard with a shout, right down Derek’s throat and he just swallows it all.

Derek crawls up him frantically, legs either side of Stiles’ head and jerks his perfect dick right in Stiles’ face, worrying on his own lower lip above him.

Stiles’ brain comes back online and he grabs one of Derek’s ass cheeks in each hand and he opens his mouth.

Derek braces himself against the bedpost with one hand, eyes flashing between red, blue, back to stormy grey-blue. Stiles watches his muscles clench as he works himself furiously, dick thrusting in and out of his clenched fist.

“Come on me Derek. Come all over my face, I want you to ruin me,” Stiles winces, thinking he’s probably stolen his lines from a cheesy porn dialogue somewhere but it clearly works for Derek because with a snarl, miraculously, he does.

Stiles closes his eyes but he needn’t have worried because Derek’s aim is on point. Stiles feels hot come splash his lips and dribble into his open mouth so he chases it with his tongue. When he opens his eyes, it’s to see a panting Derek above him, headboard cracked in two under his hand.

For good measure, Stiles licks broadly over the tip of his spent dick (well it’s right in his face, can you blame him) and Derek collapses next to him with a whimper.

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes and Stiles tries to think of how to get across what he wants to say.

He’d fucked it up so badly last time, in the Sea in England. But he’d been blind sighted that time, awed by the possibility that Derek may have wanted him back. He’d replayed that night a million times in his head, what he should have said, what he should have done to make Derek understand. 

But in the back of his mind there had always been this doubt that Derek wanted that. He’d so easily walked away that night. Maybe it was just a sex thing for Derek, but after what just happened, Stiles isn’t so sure now.

How do you tell someone you’ve been in love with them for ten years when there’s a possibility they might just want to bone you and not be with you?

Stiles steels himself, mustering up his courage, because he’s going to do it anyway. Derek gets up and gets dressed and the longer they’re silent, the more the moment feels like it’s slipping through Stiles’ fingers. The words get lodged in his throat. But he has to try.

“Listen Der,” Stiles says.

“Don’t...” Derek says, back still to him, a tense line.

“No... you don’t understand. Just...” Stiles sits up, clutching the sleeping bag around him like a shield.

Derek faces him and Stiles thinks he’s going to be met with anger but he just looks sad.

“It’s fine Stiles. Honestly,” Derek shoves his feet into his boots and opens the door.

“Derek, please. Wait, don’t go. I just wanted to explain,” Stiles pleads and Derek stops, something like hope on his face, emboldening Stiles.

“This thing between us... well back in England. What I said...” Stiles starts, the words getting lodged in his throat.

Derek just waits, one hand on the door, body language saying he wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but in this room with Stiles.

Stiles realises this is a lost cause, Derek’s never going to want the same things as he wants from him. He’s still got to try.

Derek sniffs the air and Stiles knows he’s putting out a myriad of emotions, but probably predominantly nerves and confusion right now.

Derek takes what he wants from it and Stiles can see him visibly deflate.

“Honestly Stiles. It’s fine. One more for the memories right?” He says but it sounds bitter and he slams the door so hard the cabin rattles.

Stiles stares at the closed door for a long time.

They don’t speak for the entire hike to the compound the next morning, Derek staying about ten metres ahead of Stiles the whole time. Stiles is distraught at the thought he’s fucked this up again, but more importantly he’s upset that Derek’s so upset.

He shouldn’t have pushed him knowing he didn’t feel the same. Derek was obviously just happy to keep it physical because the minute Stiles tried to bring up feelings was when they’d gone wrong. 

Derek’s mood had darkened further when they staked out the compound and came to the conclusion it was abandoned. Like completely, no sign of Monroe, or anyone.

They’d found a room with long lens pictures of Theo and Liam outside the airport hotel, embracing Stiles and Derek.

The hunters had left them out deliberately for them to find; it was a taunt, one step ahead, always.

There’s even a picture of Cora laughing at something Lydia’s saying, back in Beacon Hills outside a coffee shop. The Sheriff’s in the background, tray of coffee cups in his arms. It’s date stamped yesterday. It sends Derek loco and it’s because Stiles knows it was because he’d been adamant she’d never been involved.

Derek went full alpha, trashed the room as a majestic huge black wolf, clothes ripping from his body. He spent a good five minutes breaking tables in half, flinging chairs into windows, biting at the pictures, while Stiles just stood wordlessly and watched until he changed back, panting. 

Derek got a spare change of clothes out of his pack, shoved his boots back on and walked to the door without looking back.

“Lets go,” he said, voice thick with emotion. Stiles knows exactly how he feels.

They are the only words he speaks to Stiles for the whole journey back to a Beacon Hills. He ignores Stiles for two months straight, again finding any excuse not to be alone with him.

Stiles is sensing a pattern.

—————

Mexico- Somewhere in the Nevada desert- March 2020- Present day

—————

Fresh off their flight, Stiles and Parrish pick up a rental Jeep renegade and they make their way to the rendezvous point; it’s a flaming orange colour, thank you very much Lydia. Stiles drives as he managed to sleep for a bit on the plane, using Parrish’s shoulder as a pillow. The guy was surprisingly comfy considering all his hard hell hound type muscles.

Parrish is chatty on the ride and tactile as usual. He touches Stiles’ arm every time he sees something that impresses him, excitedly pointing out landmarks. His chatter dies down as the night starts to fall and they drive deeper into the desert, roads getting a lot less road-looking and Stiles needs to really concentrate.

They arrive at a site with a few cars parked around and he sees a tent covered by a bunch of hills. He’s lucky Parrish had spotted the cars as they passed because they would never have found the others.

He’s surprised to see Kira, sitting at the fireside, chatting animatedly with Malia. Lydia is standing a little off to the side, talking on her phone and Stiles can see Derek standing with Theo, showing him something on his phone. Theo throws his head back and laughs and Stiles is struck with a sudden bizarre urge to punch Theo right is his stupid handsome face.

Everyone looks up as they approach and Stiles jumps out of the cab of the jeep, slamming the door. Parrish throws his hoody to Stiles who catches it gratefully. It’s freezing out here now the sun’s gone down. 

They greet everyone quickly, a nervousness in the air. Stiles lingers to give Kira a long hug and he ignores Derek altogether. Way to show he’s not bothered.

Derek gives Parrish a quick one armed hug. As Parrish goes to pull back, Derek grabs him by the arm, eyes flashing red and he sucks in a deep breath, right where his shoulder is... right where Stiles had fallen asleep on Parrish on the plane and probably drooled on him. 

Derek’s eyes flick back to normal quickly but he bares his teeth, eyes boring into Stiles.

The moment passes without anyone but Stiles noticing, Derek letting Parrish go. Stiles only saw it because he’d been watching Derek and now it’s like he can’t break eye contact, even if he wanted to.

Derek glares at Stiles, even harder than usual and Jordan, oblivious as usual, potters back to Stiles’ side and presses against him, knowing he’d be feeling the chill of the Nevada night air. Hell hounds burn even hotter than werewolves.

Derek is still staring at them, hands clenched tightly at his sides and he looks positively homicidal.

It gives Stiles a second of satisfaction before he begins to feel indignant; Derek’s got no right to give a shit about what he does, especially considering he doesn’t want Stiles for anything himself.

Stiles glares right back and resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Derek.

Stiles is saved from resorting to childish measures when Lydia hangs up the phone and gathers them all together.

“Right. Scott is still at the entrance of the cave and he’s adamant that he can still smell and hear her moving around. He doesn’t think she knows he’s there. He can only hear one heartbeat, obviously he can’t be sure but it’s looking good... really good... Liam has intercepted a car coming back along that gravel entry road with what looks like two hunters in and he’s tied them up and he’s waiting on our signal. We think they are setting up a new base and we need to move fast because there could be more on the way. Shocker, but Araya Calavera has refused Monroe refuge. I think she was counting on their allegiance but looks like the Calavera’s have some honour after all,” Lydia addresses them.

“Are we going to... you know...” Malia shows her teeth and makes slashing motions with her hands.

“As much as I think this world would be a better place without her, we’re going for the capture. The Lopez pack Alpha has only agreed that we get to make this capture on her territory if we hand Monroe over to her. To tell you the truth, I think what they’ve got planned for her will be far more imaginative than whatever we could do with her. Are we all on board with that?” Lydia checks with the group and her eyes are cold.

Stiles wants to care what happens to the woman, his conscience niggles at him but he’s seen too much death, given up to much of his life picking up the pieces after Monroe to be able to sympathise with her.

Everyone stays silent.

“Great. So we go in together. I’m going first and I’ll check for any traps, there’s bound to be a few. I’ll confirm it’s her. I think she sees me as the least threatening anyway. Then I’ll give the signal and everyone can come in and we can extract her,” Lydia nods, “Let’s go.”

They all start on foot and Stiles sees nothing for around an hour. Jordan hangs back and brings up the rear of the group with Stiles. Stiles tries to ignore how often Derek looks back toward them.

Stiles feels anticipation course through him when the group starts to slow, the werewolves cocking their heads from side to side, listening. Kira unsheathes her sword and Malia’s eyes flash blue.

Lydia strides with purpose over rocky terrain and she leads them on an ascent to what looks like the entrance to a cave system. 

“Stiles... can I have a word?” Derek’s hung back from the group, who have stopped up a little overhead and are taking various things like torches and mini rock axes out of their packs.

Parrish looks at Stiles and wordlessly walks on to join the others.

“What do you want?” Stiles is furious all of a sudden.

Derek didn’t give him a chance to speak when he wanted to, why should offer the same courtesy back to him. The guy’s literally pretended like he didn’t exist for two months and fuck if that didn’t hurt. He thought even as friends, Derek respected him more than that.

Derek flinches at his tone and Stiles’ heart feels like it’s crushing in his chest.

“I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. For what happened. I know it wasn’t what you wanted, I can’t give you what you wanted. And I’m just... I’m really, really sorry,” Derek whispers, leaning in close so the others can’t overhear.

“Yeah. Me too Der. Me fucking too,” Stiles sighs softly, voice wobbling.

Hearing Derek’s regret about what happened between them is a million times worse than Derek not having feelings for him in the first place.

It’s Stiles that walks away this time, before Derek has the chance.

—————

When Lydia calls them through, giving the signal, she’s got Monroe backed up into a large cavern. Monroe has a gun trained on her, but Lydia’s banshee scream has been known to literally disintegrate a bullet, so Stiles isn’t worried.

Monroe glares at all of them. Stiles doesn’t know what he was was expecting; a villainous rhetoric possibly, maybe some kind of an explanation. He steps around the others to stand by Lydia, to look into the eyes of pure evil.

Stiles is reminded of something his mother used to say as he watches her grin maniacally at them, banging her palm on her forehead as they all stand just looking at her.

One time, Stiles came home from pre-school, really upset, because a boy called Dennis had stole his crayons. When Stiles had asked him why he wouldn’t share, Dennis had said he didn’t want to be his friend because Stiles was a loser.

Claudia Stillinski had dried Stiles’ tears, kissed him on the cheek and told him, “Not everyone you lose is a loss, my little Mischief.”

He hadn’t particularly understood it at the time but as he’d gotten older, he’d realised his Mom was right.

That saying flashes through his mind now, as Monroe puts the barrel of her gun in her mouth, still grinning but defeat in her eyes.

The loud shot echoes in the cave and there’s a vacuum of silence, everyone taking in the fact that this is finally over.

Then the rumble starts. Gentle at first, like rain starting to fall on a tin roof, then louder, like a building being demolished. 

Lydia looks around in horror and Stiles realises what’s happening the same time she does.

“Run,” Lydia yells and they do.

Stiles is last out, being the furthest into the cavern, despite Derek dragging him back toward the entrance. 

The last thing Stiles remembers is Derek shoving him to the ground and laying on top of him, as what feels like the sky falls in on them.

—————

When Stiles wakes up, he panics because he doesn’t recognise where he is. He hears the rhythmic beeping of a heart rate monitor and he blinks fully awake to the sight of his Dad sitting in a hospital chair.

Stiles takes in his weathered face and he curses. His Dad looks like shit. He looks unbelievably tired and his lips are dry, like he’s been chewing on them.

“Dad,” Stiles rasps.

His father jerks awake and almost crushes him with a hug before giving him some room.

“Oh thank god,” His Dad’s crying and Stiles can’t help the pang of guilt he feels.

“Dad. How long.... how long...” he rasps, throat like sand.

His Dad gets him some water and he tells him what he wants to know.

“We’re still in Mexico. You’ve been unconscious for nearly a week. You scared the hell out of me Son. They kept you sedated because of the swelling, you had a head wound,” His Dad says tiredly.

Stiles feels his head and winces. It’s tender and he can feel a small wound, barely closed, but it doesn’t feel too bad considering. He flexes his body and realises nothing else hurts. He seems to have gotten off lucky.

“The others, Dad?” He realises he has no idea what really happened. 

“Everyone’s fine. There was a cave in. Well mostly everyone. I made them go home. Theo had to drive, they couldn’t take Derek on a plane, so...” His Dad says rubbing his hand over his face and Stiles’ heart plummets.

Derek... the last person he’d seen in the cave was Derek... 

“Dad, why? What happened to Derek?” Stiles sits up, about to pull his IV out. 

His Dad grabs his hand to stop him, the heart rate monitor going ballistic.

“He’s ok now, calm down Stiles,” John says.

But Stiles can’t calm down. If something had happened to Derek, it was his fault. He shouldn’t have gone so far into the cave and now Derek was hurt or something.

“He protected you from the cave in Stiles, you’d be dead if it wasn’t for him, but... well Deaton said it was like the equivalent of dropping an elephant on top of him. He didn’t just break bones, his leg got crushed. Like totally crushed. It was a mess, honestly, even a day later, when I got here.. But the Lopez pack emissary saved his leg because Scott got him there while Lydia drove you to the hospital. She crashed into an ambulance, I had to pull some strings to get her released from jail. Scott dug you both out. Derek didn’t have to heal a break, he had to literally regrow his bones, with a little help of magic. I didn’t want to know that part to be honest. He couldn’t go on a plane while he was still healing so Theo drove him back. He didn’t want to go while you were still here, but Lydia made him. Hunters were still arriving after Monroe and the Lopez pack were picking them off, sending them a message but Derek was in the firing line if he stayed. He only agreed to leave when I arrived,” His Dad tells him.

Stiles nods but he’s in shock. Derek nearly died. Hell he’d nearly died himself. He would have if not for Derek.

Stiles wants to cry, he’s made so many mistakes; the biggest mistake of all, not telling Derek how he feels, damned if he doesn’t feel the same.

Stiles gets up, yanking on the IV before his Dad can stop him.

He’s going to head straight back to Beacon Hills to remedy that.

—————

Stiles takes a day after he arrives home just to sleep. He doesn’t want to but he really doesn’t have much of a choice. His body is healed, head feeling painless with no major side effects from his ordeal, but he’s absolutely exhausted.

He lets himself into his apartment and he crashes straight into his bed.

He wakes up when it’s dark and he takes a long shower, brushes his teeth and he feels a million times better when he’s dressed in his own clean clothes.

He grabs the keys to Roscoe and tries to ignore his nerves as he drives to Derek’s loft. This could be an honest to god disaster but he’s committed.

He runs up the stairs, too jittery to wait for the elevator and he paces for a minute outside the door to Derek’s loft before it’s yanked open.

“Stiles.” Derek says and his eyes are wild. 

Stiles takes him in and he looks perfect. He’s wearing black basketball shorts and a ridiculously tight tank top and he’s barefoot.

“You’ve got two legs,” Stiles says, raking his eyes over him and that’s not even close to what he was going to say.

Derek lets out a surprised chuckle.

“Just about. And you still have your head,” Derek points at him.

“Thanks to you...” Stiles shuffles from foot to foot.

Derek stands aside to let him in and Stiles stands awkwardly just inside the doorway. Derek shuts the door.

“I’m glad you came... I wanted to tell you something,” Derek begins and hey, that’s supposed to be Stiles’ line.

Stiles nods and braces for rejection. Derek probably doesn’t want to see him ever again, this entire thing feels so fucked up between them.

“So... I know we hooked up twice,” Derek starts and Stiles winces. 

Hooked up sounds so casual and it doesn’t really do justice to how Stiles felt about the whole thing.

“I was there...” Stiles nods for him to continue and Derek rolls his eyes. It makes Stiles relax a little, the gesture so familiar.

“Shut up. So... I should have been more open with you after the first time. I know that you’re with Parrish now, so clearly you were ok with being in a relationship, just not with me. I should have respected that, you were pretty clear after the time in England that you saw it as a hook up. What was it you said, “not a story to share with my future wife?” But I should have told you, you weren’t a ‘just for now’ thing to me. I wasn’t going to move on, get a wife as you put it because I need you. I want you. All the time” Derek continues, voice soft.

Stiles feels his mouth drop open but he’s powerless to stop Derek, stop the wrong, wrong, wrong words coming out of his mouth. How could he have been so stupid.

“And then in Russia, it was so perfect, god you smelled amazing. I can’t get your scent out of my head but you were so uncomfortable afterward and I know you were trying to let me down easy, so I walked away to make it easier for you. But... I know it’s selfish and you seem really happy with Parrish but you nearly fucking died and I can’t sleep Stiles. I just keep replaying it, how I should have told you how I felt, that maybe, just maybe you’d have changed your mind...” Derek’s head drops down to his chest and his voice is heavy with emotion.

“Why the hell do you think I’m boning Parrish?” Stiles exclaims, focusing on entirely the wrong thing, not sure which part of Derek’s little speech to address first.

This is not going at all how he planned.

Derek looks up, frowning.

“I’m emotionally stunted Stiles, I’m not stupid. He was glued to your side when you arrived in Mexico and he stank of you, like you’d been laying on top of him for hours. And you smelled just like him,” Derek sneers, like the very thought is offending him.

“I disagree. You are stupid,” Stiles says, pointing, getting angry again, “and so am I.”

They have both assumed so much and both been so hopelessly wrong.

“Parrish is my friend. He leant me his hoody because I was cold. And he smelled like me in Mexico because I had been laying on him from hours,” Stiles ignores Derek’s snarl, “on the plane. I fell asleep on his shoulder. Literally, that was it.” 

Derek cocks his head and he stops growling and Stiles wants to kiss him so badly, so he backs him up against the door, getting right in his space.

“That wasn’t a lie...” Derek says, whispering.

Stiles stares straight into his eyes, and he places his hands on Derek’s hips, stroking circles into his skin with his thumbs.

“I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for years. I loved you in England, I loved you in Russia, I loved you in Mexico and I love you now. I kept trying to tell you, but I thought maybe you were happy just fucking, or didn’t want the same thing as I did so I tried to give you an out the first time. Then I tried to tell you how I felt the second time. And you kept walking away from me...” Stiles says, small grin beginning on his lips.

Derek stares at his mouth and breathes deeply.

“That wasn’t a lie either...” Derek says breathlessly.

“Nope...” Stiles grins happily, “fuck I love you so much you self sacrificing asshole, if I’d thought for a second you felt even remotely the same...” 

And Stiles doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Derek seals his lips solidly to his, grabbing him by belt loops.

Stiles licks into Derek’s mouth and he marvels in the way that Derek just opens up for him, mouth wet and perfect, tongues fucking into each other.

It’s far from slow, but it’s absolutely perfect.

Derek moans when Stiles rocks his dick into him and he flips them around so it’s Stiles pushed back into the door.

Derek fumbles between them getting Stiles’ belt undone and then he’s shoving his jeans down his legs. Stiles yanks his own t-shirt off and divests Derek of his tank top smoothly. Whoever said Stiles was clumsy hadn’t seen him with the right motivation, and a naked Derek Hale is very much so the right motivation.

Derek kicks off his own basketball shorts and they come back together and it’s gloriously hot skin on skin.

Stiles yanks Derek into him, grabbing him by the ass and Derek spends a good minute licking and biting his neck and collarbone, marking him up.

Stiles’ dick is leaking pre-come, he’s so hard. He tugs on Derek’s hair and pulls him back to look at him and he hopes he gets to see Derek like this every day, for the rest of his life. He realises he’s speaking out loud when Derek kisses him softly, but no less intense and he picks him up by the thighs.

Stiles wraps his legs around him easily, Derek pushing him back into the door, holding him up with one hand and placing his other against the door for leverage.

He rolls up into Stiles and Stiles cries out when he feels Derek’s dick slide behind his balls. He needs to feel him inside him, like a year ago.

Derek doesn’t slow his ministrations, instead just presses his fingers between Stiles’ cheeks, demanding and he touches his hole lightly, making Stiles groan deep.

Their kisses get frantic again, turning to biting lips and fighting tongues as Derek plays with his hole, dry.

Derek lets him down when he starts to squirm and Stiles sinks to his knees on the hard floor, ready to suck Derek’s brains out through his dick. He stretches his lips around him and Derek lets out a noise like he’s dying. He gets in a minute of licking and sucking at Derek’s cock, revelling in the taste of him before Derek takes his head gently and starts to thrust into his mouth, cock hitting the back of his throat.

Derek’s hands are tipped with claws as he fucks Stiles’ throat and Stiles swallows around him, holding onto the backs of his thighs to keep him there.

Stiles’ eyes water and he looks up at Derek, who looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are like fire, he’s wolfed out and he’s bitten his lip so hard it’s bleeding slightly.

Stiles groans deep in his throat at the sight of him, throat vibrating around his cock head and he’s rewarded with Derek’s come hitting the back of his throat. His mouth constricts around him, protesting the lack of air but he refuses to let Derek go until he’s finished.

“Holy shit Stiles,” Derek says, his knees shaking slightly as he pulls his dick out of his mouth. He drags a thumb over Stiles’ swollen bottom lip.

Derek’s hands ghost over Stiles’ head, stopping at the small healed scar where he’d had his head wound. Derek snarls and sinks down to meet him, flipping him over so he’s face down on the floor, trapping his dick against the wood. Derek sits on the back of his thighs, pinning him as he parts his hair to get a look. Sadly the examination doesn’t do a thing to diminish Stiles’ erection.

Stiles stays still, submissive. He knows Derek won’t be happy until he’s seen it for himself.

He feels Derek kiss the back of his head, just feather light and Stiles braces his head on his arms and gives a small smile and a contented sigh.

Then he yells when he feels Derek shift and unceremoniously palm his ass cheeks with each large hand and he parts him wide, exposing him to the air.

“Nnnngh,” Stiles grunts and he’s rewarded with Derek’s hot tongue licking over his hole.

Derek licks him and tongue fucks him until Stiles is begging to be fucked, so Derek obliges, but only with his fingers.

Stiles’ spit slick hole opens around him and soon Derek’s three fingers deep, slowly thrusting in and out of him and licking around where he’s spreading him.

Derek pulls his fingers out and spits directly onto him and Stiles feels it dribble down his crack and right over his balls. It’s hot as hell.

Derek snarls and it’s a possessive sound and Stiles’ trapped dick leaks at the sound.

Derek yanks him up to his knees, leans over his back and takes Stiles’ dick in his hand. It takes two strokes and the feeling of Derek’s rapidly fattening cock pressing against his ass before he’s coming, all over Derek’s hand and floor. 

Derek pulls him to his feet before he can face plant the floor and picks him up again, kissing him. He walks him to his bed and lays him down gently, mouth only leaving his to lick his hand clean of Stiles’ come.

“You are literally like a porno in real life,” Stiles says, covering his eyes and laughing.

Derek looks at him shyly and he shrugs, burying his face into Stiles’ shoulder.

“I like how you taste,” Derek mumbles into his neck, licking the skin there.

Stiles pulls him up for a lingering kiss before moving between Derek’s legs. He licks Derek’s happy trail from the base of his dick to his naval and then takes one of Derek’s nipples in his mouth, biting gently.

By the time he’s done the same to Derek’s other nipple, he’s pleased to see Derek’s dick is rock hard again and poking him demandingly in the thigh.

“I like how you taste too,” Stiles grins at him.

Derek fumbles in his bedside drawer and produces a half empty bottle of lube, presenting it proudly to Stiles.

“Ah my hero. For me or for you?” Stiles asks.

Derek’s eyes flash red again.

“I would quite like you to fuck me, even though you’d be the first... but I think my dicks going to fall off if I don’t get inside you. So for you, this time,” Derek growls and Stiles is pleased at how much that sounds like a promise.

“That’s awfully dramatic,” Stiles tuts but shuts up in favour of watching Derek.

Derek slicks his fingers and Stiles turns around so his face is in Derek’s crotch and his ass in Derek’s face. Derek’s had his tongue in there, Stiles isn’t stopping this sexy train, he’s going to ask for what he wants. He wiggles his ass as if to emphasise his point.

Derek fingers him open, straight in with three fingers, lube much easier than the spit.

Stiles groans and buries his face in Derek’s dick, rubbing his cheek along it. Derek bucks his hips up into him.

Stiles braces himself on one hand and he teasingly licks the tip of Derek’s dick, tonguing the slit while he trails his hand over Derek’s balls and he tugs gently.

Derek whines desperately and Stiles gets another finger in retaliation. Stiles is panting, fucking himself on Derek’s hand by the time Derek’s had enough.

Stiles has progressed to letting the movement just push Derek’s dick into his mouth and instead of sucking, he’s just messily letting spit drip down Derek’s dick and balls as his dick slides in and out of his mouth.

“Fuck, Stiles, stop I’m going to come,” Derek whimpers as Stiles lets Derek slide in further.

Stiles pulls off with a satisfied pop and groans when Derek sinks blunt teeth into the meat of his left ass cheek.

Derek slaps him lightly on the ass and encourages him to sit up. Derek sits up against the headboard, fisting his dick hard to stave off his second orgasm at the sight of Stiles, about to straddle him. Stiles kneels either side of his hips, braces his hands on Derek’s shoulders and he sinks down torturously slowly onto Derek’s dick.

When Derek’s balls deep inside him, Stiles is flushed and biting his lip. Derek knows he’s larger than average but he prepped Stiles well. He can’t help but sniff his neck for good measure, just to make sure he can’t scent pain. All he gets a whiff of arousal and want and Derek’s dick twitches inside Stiles.

Stiles rocks his hips, testing him and Derek grabs his ass to slow him.

“Give... me a minute...” Derek huffs.

“Oh my god, you feel amazing,” Stiles pants, rocking again.

Derek grunts.

“I’m not going to last,” Stiles whines, his dick slapping obscenely between their stomach’s, as he begins to ride Derek.

“Me either. Fuck Stiles, you’re so perfect,” Derek grunts, feeling Stiles’ hole clench every time his dick drags in and out of him.

Stiles presses their foreheads together and he picks up the pace, Derek fucking up into him.

Stiles comes first, dick completely untouched, coming all over Derek’s abs. Derek pushes him back down onto the mattress on his back, slings Stiles’ leg over his thigh and drives into him, taking what he needs.

Stiles digs his nails into his back and Derek comes on a shout, come filling him deep, marking him up. Derek collapses on top of him, rolling to the side slightly so he doesn't squash him.

Derek kisses his temple tenderly, strokes his back and unable to help himself, fingers gently around his fucked open hole, massaging his come into him as it leaks out.

Stiles makes happy little noises, nuzzling into Derek’s neck and that’s how they fall asleep, tangled together. Messy, happy and smelling of each other.

No one leaves.

—————

The next evening is a celebratory pack BBQ at Stiles’ Dad’s. Stiles stresses for the entire day about how to tell everyone, but it turns out he needn’t have worried. The second they walk into the garden together, Scott wrinkles his nose and he looks at them both in open mouthed horror.

Malia grins at them and offers Derek a high five, which to Stiles’ surprise, he takes.

Parrish and John look at each other in confusion. 

Lydia cocks her head at them, narrowing her eyes and Stiles can almost see the cogs working in her brain as she figures it out.

“What? I don’t get it. What’s going on?” Liam asks the group.

“Remind me to work on your scenting skills at our next training session,” Scott grimaces, holding his nose.

“Why?” Liam sniffs deeply but still looks blankly at them all, “guys what? Tell me!”

Derek rolls his eyes and surprises everyone, Stiles included, by grabbing him by the hoody and planting a soft, lingering kiss on his mouth. He brushes his tongue over his lower lip before releasing him and Stiles wonders if he looks as dazed as he feels, as Derek walks off to help himself to a burger.

Stiles touches his lips in wonder, he might never get used to this feeling. 

“Ohhhh! Derek finally banged Stiles,” Liam says loudly and Scott clips him on the back of the head.

His Dad’s face splits into a grin as Derek reaches him and he claps him on the back. His Dad looks so happy and Derek’s shy smile, as he gets the full brunt of Stiles’ Dad’s approval, is Stiles’ new favourite thing.

Actually, it’s his second favourite thing, he’s lying. The sight of Derek in the shower that morning with Stiles’ dick up his ass is his first new favourite thing. Hands down. This is definitely second. Or maybe it’s his third favourite thing, that thing Derek did... Before he can go down the route of obsessing about Derek’s dick, he stops himself and looks around their little group.

He never thought they’d get to have this, they’d hunted Monroe for so long and now they can live. Everyone looks younger, lighter. Lydia is radiant, head held higher than all of them. They all look happy. Well mostly all of them.

Stiles notices that Parrish kind of looks like someone just pissed in his hot dog bun.

Stiles makes a mental note to check in on him later in the evening. He checks that off his list when he sees him making out heatedly with Lydia in the kitchen, after most people have gone home.

Stiles backs out slowly, grinning and heads upstairs to take a leak.

Derek scares the shit out of him when he grabs him as he comes out of the toilet and he pulls him into his childhood bedroom, pinning him against the wall.

“I’m having deja vu here...” Stiles smiles at him, grinning at the way Derek nuzzles in close to him, needing body to body contact.

“One for the memories?” Derek breathes as he sinks to his knees in front of him.

“Hell yes. Maybe you can share this story with your future wife. Or your future husband,” Stiles grins down at him, hand going to stroke Derek’s hair, mirroring his own words from their England trip.

Derek looks up at him, grin turning feral as he unzips Stiles’ jeans.

“He already knows...” Derek tells him, licking his lips, as he takes Stiles’ hand in his own, linking their fingers together.

—————

**Author's Note:**

> Give me a shout if I missed any tags.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for taking the time to read it x


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